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Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Grief and brokenness have potential to usher us into the most powerful of worship experiences and revelations from God. In the year that King Uzziah died, Isaiah grieved. In his grief, He saw the Lord, seated on His throne, still sovereign and reigning over all, and the train of His robe filled the temple with glory. In the year that King Uzziah died, Isaiah saw that the whole earth is full of His glory (6:3)! In grief from death, his eyes were opened to seeing in the spirit another realm that surpassed the one of earth's realities with sand he could feel with his feet and sift with his fingers.

He encountered the true reality of a living God, who reigns in heaven and on earth and under the earth. In His Presence, Isaiah was cleansed, but not just for himself, for his people. Woe is me for I am undone! Because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people with unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King. The Lord of hosts. (6:5)

In the year that Lynn Erskine died... I saw the Lord, seated on His throne, high and exalted. And the train of His robe filled the temple. He extended His arm, and with a live coal in His hand, He touched my mouth. He extended His sceptre of grace and mercy, calling me into His infinite love, saying See, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away and your sin atoned for (6:7). He crowned me with favor as a daughter of the King, cleansed and healed me. He put a scroll of royal decree in my hands, sealed with the seal of the King of kings, the Lord of Lords, the Almighty sovereign God who reigns in heaven, on earth, and under the earth. He sent me as His representative, to "go for Us" (6:8), to carry forth His decree, with hosts of heavenly armies encamped about me to deliver me. They will fight against you but will not overcome you, for I am with you and will rescue you. (Jeremiah 1:19).

For you are my witnesses declares the Lord, my people whom I have chosen, that you might know me, believe me, and understand that I am He. (Isaiah 43:10)

I find that I am overwhelmed by the Living God. In His loving kindness, He upholds me in my grief, in my exhaustion, in my questions and concerns, my doubts and unbelief. He ministers to me as a Father to his little child. And still, there is another force moving and sometimes raging in and through me. It is a mighty force of His Spirit that is not of me, that holds great mystery and power.

Isaiah encountered this similar experience of holy calling, of sending, something not of Himself. And it was He who wrote in the revelation of the Holy Spirit, the very words that Jesus would later proclaim... The Spirit of the sovereign Lord, is upon me, for the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor... (Isaiah 61:1) This is His royal decree.

Isaiah was just a man, as I am just a woman (though, I feel much more like just a girl). Though, like many others, he was chosen before his birth, his ministry came forth out of brokenness and grief. In his weakness, he was ushered into his high calling of great strength and power in the Spirit, his eyes were opened to seeing something more than just himself, which has always been the for the same purpose... To bind up the brokenhearted, to set the captives free, to release the prisoners from darkness, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favour, and comfort all who mourn... (Is 61...)
My God is mighty and mysterious, and yet He is tender, and my closest Friend. Give me eyes that see You, Lord. Strengthen and protect me that I might serve you well, and be a vessel through which your royal decree is carried out, the words of Isaiah 61 fulfilled, the fullness of salvation in Christ being made known on the earth...

Friday, October 25, 2013

For many months, I thought, Of all the ways to describe grief, why those words? Certainly there are many more accurate ways to describe grief than "hard work"? Like "hell on earth", for example. Why not those words? As I continue in my second year, I am coming to realize the depth of truth imbedded in those words... Grief is hard work.
I have written before about the changes that occurred in my grief crossing over into year two. During year one, I was empowered by some sense of purpose, like I was climbing a mountain that actually had a top. The anniversary was like a goal set before me, something to push towards, like a finish line that I could cross, collapse, and celebrate at the end of a marathon. But, the anniversary brought no fulfillment, climax, or culmination to my grief, and left me with a sense of wandering... If there is no "finish line", than what I am I working so hard for? If there is no goal, no top of the mountain, than what am I trying to accomplish? Where is my motivation? How do I focus my energies and keep climbing when I know there is no real end...

Recently I watched the movie, The Way Back. These men, later joined by one young woman, set off on an unimaginable trek through Siberia, the Gobi Desert, and the Himalayas, escaping a World War II labor camp and crossing over the border into freedom. Every day, they got up and walked. The odds were almost impossible that they would make it. Several of them died along the way. Starving, freezing, dehydrated, and burning under the desert sun, they walked. I used to think that grief was like climbing a mountain. But now I know it is just living. It is just getting up and walking an impossible, unimaginable trek, lived out in the context of our everyday lives.

Sometimes, I am asked, Are you working? I never know what to say to this question for numerous reasons, but not the least of them being the desperate emotional response of, Are you kidding me??? Do you have any idea how hard I have to work to get myself up in the morning? To take care of my family? To be alive and breathe?
I am a widow. But on the outside, contextually, I am 29 years old, with two beautiful young daughters. I have a lovely home with a gorgeous view. I have loving family and friends. I should be thriving. I should be at the top of my game. I should be in my golden years. But on the inside, I am like an 80 year old widow, who has lived an entire lifetime, literally, my husband's entire lifetime, a full and complete lifetime with one husband, that is over, and he is gone. How exactly am I supposed to keep going? How exactly am I supposed to just choose a career or a job or some new purpose to live for???

Grief is terribly hard work. The heaviness of chest, the nausea, the sleep deprivation, the crushing sense of loss, the removal of all joy and pleasures of life, of all reasons worth living (other than Jesus and my children...)

I am facing the reality today that grief without a goal is terribly challenging for me. I have little desire to do anything with my life. I keep trying to push myself forward, but there is a sense in which I feel I have died with my husband. I think of things I could do, often feel like I should do... But I don't want to do any of it. I want my husband back. I want to wake up from this nightmare and find joy, a release from such tremendous pain. I want to weep on my husband's shoulder, and crawl into the safety of his embrace. I want to feel like life is worth living again, not just assent to its intellectual probability.

Once again, I swallow the lump in my throat, I rise to yet another day of desert, with swollen feet on burning hot sand, lips chapped and bleeding from the sun... Day 420...

I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus... (Phil 3:14)

I renew my commitment to plunge East, face the darkness, trusting that I will come upon the dawning of a new day... I will lean into my grief. No matter how much it feels like it will crush me. No matter how unbearable the unending pain. No matter how HARD it is...

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

A long table. Coffee and tea. White-washed walls. And lots of grey hair...

This morning I braved my first GriefShare small group session in our local church board room. I was terribly nervous. I had assumptions about what I might find, but really had no idea. Other than a few one on one counselling sessions or coffee sessions with another widow, I had never entered into a "fellowship" of grief. And the prospect of it had my knees wobbling...

The facilitator opened with her own story. Widowed twice. She has lived through the death of two husbands. As each member took their turn, I marvelled again at the wide range of circumstances that had led each one to this place. The losses of parents, siblings, children, and spouses. Each circumstance unique. Every loss, validated. And still, I marvelled again at the similarity of our grief experiences... Ultimately, we love. We lost. Now, we grieve.

I was rather unfortunately placed around the table, falling last in the line of story introductions. I had a long time to wonder, what will I say? What should I share? Can I find any common ground in this room of men and women, most of them twice my age? I felt I should start with, My husband died one year, one month, and eleven days ago. Like in an AA meeting where you begin with, I am an alcoholic... How does my story fit in to the overwhelming despair seen around this table of fellow-grievers?

Again, I marvelled at the mystery of God. For God is near to those who are broken-hearted. Our fellowship of mourning was truly blessed because of Jesus. For, God dwells with the lowly and poor in spirit... Not all at the table were strong men and women of faith. Still, each one had a sense of something nearer to them. Each one recognized that in devastating grief, when life is no longer worth living, food and hobbies and activities have lost all pleasure, and darkness and pain are the only things constant... In that place, we look for something... Everything else is counted loss. What is worth living for? Where is there any comfort? In this place, there are two choices. Death and life. I have set before you life. Choose life.
"Grief is hard work." I have heard this said from many a widow. I have experienced it and live in it on a minute by minute basis. But there, in that board room, in the fellowship of our sufferings, I saw it most clearly expressed. Such devastation happens through loss. Such despair. Such pain that seems unending and unable to be endured...

I sometimes trick myself into thinking that the pain will go away as I continue to be blessed in the Lord. That when I am in His Presence, He will make everything right. When I am revelling on the mountaintop of praise, I will remain there forevermore, never to tread the depths again. No more low valleys and shadows of death... But I am always mistaken. The highs and the lows remain. Both. Each. And.

I am humbled once again, and somewhat enraged to recall that patience, endurance, and brokenness are highly esteemed positions of glory in the kingdom of God. That He looks for the lowly and contrite of spirit, and for those who tremble at His word. That BLESSED are the poor in the spirit. BLESSED are those who mourn...

I am best positioned for the glory of God when I am in the sorrowful lows of my grief. I prefer the mountaintops, and though many would suggest that there is where the Christian life of blessing is lived, I may beg to differ. Scripture would describe to me a more upside down version of blessing, that is in fact, right side up, where we are brought low to be lifted up. Where we are broken. Where we grieve. And where Jesus is near, in the fellowship of His sufferings, bringing comfort and perfect peace.

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

How is it possible? To experience such highs in the Spirit and such lows of grief, simultaneously? This is what the Lord is doing in me...17 so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love,18 may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth,19 and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. (Ephesians 3)For me to know the fullness of God, to know the breadth and length and height and depth of God's love, my soul has to grow... The fullness of God's love is not something mystified or intellectual, idealistic or existing only the theological dissertations of a scholarly mind. The fullness of God's love is made manifest in the highs and lows of our very lives, of our every day experiences. No matter where life takes us, to what depths of sorrow, to what lengths of distance and separation, to what hights of glory and joyfulness, His arm is not shortened that it cannot reach (Isaiah 59:1). The mystery is this, that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us (Romans 5:8). The saving arm of God's love and everlasting grace reaches into the very pits of hell (1 Peter), conquers every hindrance, overcomes all obstacles, and makes light to shine in darkness. May you know and experience the fullness of God's love in the breadth and width and height and depths of your daily life and experiences. Love you.

This is presently experimental. I think the Lord's been asking me to do this for a while. I am still broken. Still assaulted by grief. And yet, God is doing exactly what He said He was going to do. He is doing a new thing in me. He is making waters in the wilderness and streams in the desert. In the desert place, He is springing up fountains of living water... I have been fighting Him for a long time, not wanting to step into His plan for my life. But in brokenness, I obey. By grace, I step into His calling on my life. In faith, I take hold of my Jesus and the abundance of life in Him.

P.S. Somehow, when I upload a video, the computer decides to choose a random image from the middle and change it as the opening scene... The Lord must be making sure that I'm truly dead to myself and not self-serving in any regard, because it always looks ridiculous :) So laugh away, dear friends!! I embrace humility with great faith in Christ!! :)

Friday, October 18, 2013

Disclaimer: I usually try to avoid sharing specific instances such as these because it involves real people whom I love and adore and I in no way want to give the impression that I have been wronged. I have been well loved and cared for. It's just that these instances are part of life and the experience of grief that is not always shared by even the ones closest to us.

Excitement bubbled over as everyone started to arrive. My family shares a genuine love and support for one another, so looking forward to these times when we all get together...

Thanksgiving with my family looks as traditional as any other... You have the big, beautiful house, women making the big meal, the brothers bringing home their girlfriends, the children making awkward comments to the girlfriend about potential marriage...!, the cousins running amok, inventing games, and jumping on the trampoline with their Uncles... Then there are usually guests, unsuspecting visitors who apparently didn't realize they were coming to a fiasco of such magnitude, with turkey, decorations, pies, pets, and loud, rowdy siblings, with seven young, rambunctious children... (SO AWESOME!)

I must confess that I didn't even realize I would be especially impacted on such a day. I suppose I assumed it was a day like any other, a visit with my awesomely loud family, Lynn's presence still absent. I coped decently well, enjoyed visiting with these beloveds, meeting the new visitors, and playing with the kids... I hadn't even thought about last Thanksgiving... I hadn't prepared myself for the table, for dinner, for the prayer...

My heart lurched into my chest as I heard my sister passionately declare, We're going to go around the table and share what we are thankful for! This may sound trite and cliche in a blog, but in actuality, it comes forth from a deep and sincere desire to offer thanksgiving up to our heavenly Father. My sister and brother-in-law are beautiful believers in Jesus and amazing parents. We were gathered around their table. So our thanksgiving would be shared. As worship. Thank you, my amazing sister.

As much as I love and validate the beauty of my sister's heart, I froze on the inside, begging, No. Please. Don't put me through this. Don't sit me around a table of couples, force me to listen to everyones great joy and delight, thankful for one another, romantically gazing into each others eyes, and put me on the spot, as though I'm supposed to be able to think very clearly and spiritually in this contextual circumstance...
The people shared. It was as I suspected. I am so thankful for my family. I am so thankful for my spouse. We are so blessed to be a happy and healthy family... My emotions ranged from intense anger, thoughts of, How dare they put me in this position, to humiliation, knowing it was perfectly natural that they should all gather around a table and give thanks for each other on Thanksgiving Day (of course there were other things people were thankful for, too). I thought, I can't do this, Lord. I can't listen to this and then put on a good Christian smile that says, I am so happy and blessed and am thankful for... my family?Well, I am thankful for my family, but in the same way as these people around this table! My turn came rather quickly and I quickly mumbled a Yes, I'm thankful for my family. I refused to elaborate for sheer lack of anything kind and/or meaningful to share, and continued to listen in torturous pain as they all happily poured out their thanks before the Lord. There was not a mention of my late husband.

The last to share was my Mom, who ever sensitively shared, maybe somewhat on my behalf, her sadness at Lynn's absence, but her joy and thanksgiving for her family... Thank you, Mom. Thank you for saying his name. Thank you for acknowledging my pain.

There, in that magnificent room, with the father seated honorably at the head of the table, the wife properly situated by his side, a beautiful meal spread before us, everything beautiful and healthy and lovely... I felt sick. And I needed to weep. Instead of finding the strength to share my grief with my family, I quickly exited the room at the first decently respectful opportunity, left the house to cry in the grass outside. There I wept. I shook with anger and grief until my brother came out to hold me, another always in tune to my heart and sensitive to my grief.

I am safe with my family. I am dearly loved and cared for. Still, sometimes it is hard to speak up. How do I compete with the surrounding gladness, especially on a day like Thanksgiving? I don't like being put on the spot. I don't like feeling like I have to teach everyone around me about grief. I don't want to have to explain why I can still have a thankful heart even though in that particular moment I couldn't think of a single thing I was actually thankful for. All I saw was happy couples. Blessed families. While mine remains broken and wounded, my heart empty of that kind of joy...

And I am thankful. But I also lament. Still, I worship. And, I serve. I am still a member of one body, the Body of Christ, and I surrender my life to Him wholeheartedly.

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Okay, I'm going out. Hmm... what do I need to do to get ready? I guess I better change. Hmmm, should I wear these earrings or these? Oh what do I care, I hate earrings. I'll just leave my pearls in as usual. I better fix my hair. I haven't even brushed it. Oh, thinking of brushing... I better brush my teeth before I forget.Okay, ready. WAIT! Where are my rings?! Rings! I must have on my rings! (Butterflies start to flutter in my tummy and I start to blush like a teenager...) Okay, phew! Rings are in place. Stop being an idiot, Natasha! You're just going to get groceries!!!
Every now and then, I have a day when I feel very single. I'm only 29 years old after all. Still a few months shy of 30. Okay, maybe a couple of months... Oh my, it's coming up quick. I'm almost 30!!

The thought of remarriage sends my heart and mind spinning. I blush at just the thought of being approached by a single man. (Though, I must confess, I have noticed that there are none, so no worries there!) But in the case that I ever did come across some eligible bachelor, what on earth would I do! What on earth would I say?? I would stutter, have no coherent train of thought, probably freak out, and run away... Someday, I may have to deal with that, but for now... I have my rings. Wear the rings. Flash the rings. Stay away from men!

Approaching 30, starting a whole new decade, feels like another one of those milestones that puts my old life in the past and thrusts me forward into something new and different. But how new and different? I seem to fight change every step of the way. All of what I do, I am still forcing myself, working hard, trying to keep living whether I want to or not. I can't imagine being happy again. There is always joy in the Lord's Presence, but happiness in life is not something I expect anymore. (However, I do have an inkling that the Lord still desires it for me.)

I hate being alone. The first thought of remarriage entered my mind very early after Lynn's death. My feeling was, How could I have all this love for a man no longer here? What do I do with it? Where do I put all this love still living in my heart, destined for a husband?? I am a wife. It doesn't just disappear.

The other side of the remarriage coin has to do with children. I pondered, Surely, my children won't grow up entirely without a father figure! Surely, at least by their wedding day, there will be a man they can call "Dad" to walk them down the isle! My daughters cry out for fatherly affection and many nights I have cried out to the Lord, Give my children a Daddy!!! They need a Daddy!!!! I think there are many ways a family can adjust to becoming a single parent dwelling, but I don't think it ever feels right to be without a Daddy. There is no adjustment big enough to make up for what is lacking in the absence of a father. My only hope has been that God will be their ABBA, their Daddy God (as we say), and he will be a father to the fatherless... But I have also given them my permission to pray for a new daddy. And this, they are doing.

I love Lynn deeply and truly, but acknowledge my desire to have a companion. I am suffocated by loneliness. I miss having someone to love. But I also acknowledge that these days, weeks, years... continue to shape me into a stronger and better woman. Healing is happening, slowly but surely. I have grieved for Lynn, begging him to forgive me for my weaknesses, my inadequacies, my failures as his wife. But in all truth, I know we were just young! There is so much we hadn't learned yet. Sometimes, I comfort myself with the notion that we would have. We would have learned it. We would have matured and grown and learned... I don't ever want to believe that Lynn had to die in order for me to grow and mature. I hate that Christian-ease notion. Instead, I am blessed to grow and mature in the midst of suffering and loss. I am blessed to experience the emptiness of widowhood. I am blessed to hunger and thirst for righteousness, because I am filled. I am blessed to mourn, because I am comforted. God truly does work all things for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purposes.
Often, when I pray about God's plan for my life. I can not avoid this subject. Are you presently preparing someone somewhere in the world who will someday be my husband? My second husband?? What an insane notion! I still cannot fathom it. But I do hope for it. And my children are praying for it. For now, I am simply telling the Lord that he better be rich and handsome. :) Right now, he'd have to be pretty fabulous to catch my attention :).

My world has been such a whirlwind the last few months. I have been so overwhelmed by sickness, single parenting with complicated and dramatic daughters :), household management I am still getting the hang of, and countless "man-jobs" around the house that go way over my head. I've had much love and support, but sometimes, I must confess, it makes life more overwhelming and chaotic :). Let me explain...

I have a garage. What a blessing!! My husband always wanted a garage :). But it was a terrible mess when I first moved in. The electric opener on the garage was present, but not hooked up, and no automatic button for opening the garage. But it could be opened manually. A friend came by and hooked it up for me, and it did work, but again, had no button for opening it from the outside. Then, a few months ago, some of my family members came in and cleaned the garage, painting the cupboard doors, one of the walls, transforming it from a dirty mess to a functional garage :) It was so wonderful! But in order to paint they had to unhook the electric opener. So, it had been altered and could no longer be opened manually, but now it was unhooked and cords misplaced, so no longer able to be opened electrically either. To further complicate the issue, some very large bees had made their home inside a crack in the concrete directly underneath where the garage door met the ground. It was impossible to get at them, and they continued to fly in and out, usually outside around the front entrance. We sprayed a whole can of something down into the crack, needing to find a way to remove these buzzing creatures, but it was all for not. They prevailed. The indestructible workers continued to buzz in and outside of the house. I thought maybe I could wait them out until the cold and they went dormant...

So, later on, someone came and installed two knew outside lights for me. removing the filthy old brown ones and slightly improving the look of the outside of the house. I was so thankful for such a sweet helper! But during that switch, something must have happened to one of the wires. The light switch was backwards, but furthermore, the breaker would blow every time I turned the lights on in the front hallway, the garage, the outside front or outside back doors.. Soon, they just didn't turn on at all. Hmmmm. So I went a few weeks without any lights on that end of the house, but it certainly became a nuisance. So I had a nice clean garage, but no way to open to the door, and no lights to see after dark on that side of the house.

Sooo... A wonderful team of amazing workers came from my new church in Charlottetown to bless us with some storage shelves in the basement, a painted deck and shed, and some clever handiwork to secure the ceiling in the garage that was starting to fall down a little... One of the kind men looked into the fuse situation and tried to fix it for me. He got the lights working, but said something is still off and I'll need an electrician. Now, the lights work, but the outside light doesn't shut off. Okay, I said. I can live with that for a while :)

Later, they sent a man over with a new electrical garage door opening system. I was so thrilled!! He hooked it up, it was a gift from the church, and gave me a button for the car so I can even open it from the outside and drive in.. But there's one glitch. The power no longer works in the garage... So now, I have working lights, a clean garage, a new garage door opener, but no power in the garage outlet, or in the outlet in Roya's bedroom that has always worked for both her lamp and night light. AND, to make matters more ridiculous, the bees have no gone dormant. Instead they moved in. They have all flown into the garage, 20+ huge bees covering the floor and window... So, I have lived in this house for 5 months, thrilled to have a garage, but still cannot open my garage door, and furthermore, have locked the door to the garage from inside the house because it is so dangerously full of massive buzzing bees. (Though they still manage to sneak into the house on many occasions, which leaves me chasing them and catching them with jars, releasing them again outside, because I'm an idiot and cannot seem to swat and kill a bee...)

Well, that is just one example of the many ridiculous scenarios I could share. Does it sound overwhelming to you? Maybe it would be easy for any one else besides me :) I find I am so blessed by the love and support of others, but sometimes think, I would so much rather pay a professional and just get it over and done with!!! But then it sometimes seems rude not to accept graciously the help and support of others... One of the many plights of the widow :)

Still, I am mostly at peace, and finally getting my feet under me, sort of... And I am still trying to figure out how to find the time, but I am writing this book. I have to be able to think clearly and be still in the Spirit and listen to the Father's voice in order to write what he has placed on my heart. But I am in it. Slowly, but surely. I am getting there...

Monday, October 7, 2013

Blessed are those whose strength is in You, who have set their hearts on a pilgrimage.As they pass through the valley of Baca, they make it a place of springs; the autumn rains also cover it with pools.They go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion.
(Psalm 84:6-7)

When all is lost, my Jesus says, Now you shall find Me.
When I am weak, my Jesus says, Now you shall soar.
In the desert, my Jesus says, Overflow with springs of living water.
In the wilderness, He says, Behold I am doing a new thing! (Is 43:19)

In all of the noise, he says, Be still. Find rest in Me. Take my hand, for I am your God.
I am ministered to by the love and grace of Almighty God. I go from strength to strength. I am satisfied in His Perfect Peace.

And out of this place, He says, Go. Soar. For I am with You. I am your sun and shield, I bestow favor and honour; no good thing will I withhold from you, from those who walk blameless... [taken from Psalm 84:11]O Lord Almighty, blessed is the person who trusts in you. (Psalm 84:12)

Sunday, October 6, 2013

I am immeasurably blessed in the Lord. I find I want to write, I'll start to blog, but I cannot finish, or cannot post what I have written... My spirit is often caught up in intercession these days and words taste bitter in my mouth.

As deep calls unto deep, language fails to satisfy.

Sometimes, God gives us gifts that are too precious to share publicly. They are specially reserved for the right moment in a conversation, when sharing it might add a special blessing to someone else's journey. They belong to me, not to the world. Of course, we are blessed to be a blessing, but God also gives good gifts to his children. :)

Rest in Me, my daughter. Abide in Me. I am the Vine, you are the branches...